


Club Hub

by Geertrui



Category: X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Aftercare, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega Equality, Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Bond bites, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, M/M, Night Clubs, Roleplay, Safewords, Scenting, Shotgunning, Smoking, Telepathic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 12:11:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4876330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geertrui/pseuds/Geertrui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles isn't one to take strangers to bed, but for this alpha, maybe he'll make an exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Club Hub

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings continued and elaborated on in the end notes, but they're mildly spoiler-ish idk.
> 
> /drags hands down face, this was meant to be a short pwp but then? But Then. The two words every fic writer can easily relate to when dealing with the outline and plots of their fics. at least this was only going to be a shitty porn fic no matter what angle i attacked it from so any divergence from my original plan for the story wouldn't be like catastrophic to the general flow and narration. but anyway. here we are 10k later lol. 
> 
> enjoy the Sin \o/

He's wearing a smirk with a cigarette between his teeth when he sees him the first time that night, out by the billiards tables and slouched across a low bench, legs spread wide and knees steeped, just asking for Charles to saunter over and straddle a firm thigh between his own. The deep plunge of his tight v-neck shirt is doing only good things to the incalescent heat under Charles' skin, which is only partially alcohol-induced. He can see all the cut lines of the stranger's neck and chest where the thin cotton doesn’t cover, and with a dry mouth Charles decides he has good clavicles. Very good clavicles. Charles thinks he’d like to drag his teeth over them.

The stranger looks at him, then, eyes flicking from where he'd been watching the drunk young patrons all shifting and shunting past each other by the pool tables to where Charles stands just shy of the entrance to back inside the club: where there's a bar, and a dancefloor, and tight dark corners that nobody looks at. From this distance Charles can't discern the colour of his eyes, but his gaze is weighty and confident. Charles catches an almost imperceptible, inviting nod to the space on the bench next to him, and Charles just gathers all his drunken confidences and gives him a watery smirk in reply, lips pursed and eyebrow raised. Another night, perhaps.

Charles feigns like he'd been searching for a friend before ducking back inside, slinking over to the dancefloor, which is a few paces away and a few steps down from the bustling bar. Railings skirt the perimeter of the floor, preventing drunken patrons from falling down into the ebb and flow of sticky bodies and providing space for others to stand and lean and watch down at everyone from the smoky, hidden shadows. Charles descends the stairs, thin fingers curled around a steel banister as he floats down to join the undulating mass, sidling into the crowd with practised ease and finding his own rhythm as he makes his way to the middle of the club’s dancefloor.

Usually, he’d never come to a place like this, especially not on a Friday night, but the suppressants he’d taken before he left home had kicked in a while ago and with his telepathy tapering down to just a small quiet coil at the base of his skull it’s making this just a little more bearable. The minds around him are warm with vodka and tequila and wine, fuzzy from cheap alcohol and soft as smoke, and they push against Charles just their bodies do. He shares the side effects of their inebriation, and the sensuality of it all warms what alcohol already hasn’t. Tipsy as he is with his inhibitions quieted for the evening, it’s not hard for Charles to let his hips sway, let his head flick, arching his neck and offering his pale skin for the strobe lights to play on. His shoulders roll back, and he lets his mind clear and the deafening music seep into his synapses.

He doesn’t know when he opens his eyes, but when he does, Charles sees the stranger from outside leaning against the railing, looking down at him with that same heavy intensity in his eyes from before. Charles isn’t sure if it’s just exertion, he’ll certainly _blame_ it on exertion, but it gets a little harder to breathe so he flits his eyes away, determined to stare anywhere but at the alpha.

When Charles flickers a cursory glance over back at the railing, the stranger is gone, and to this Charles looses a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Somebody presses against his back, a hand curling around the shell of his hip, and he tenses. When he turns around, Charles finds a woman no taller than himself coiling herself around him, offering him a suggestive smile that’s stained a deep red.

She’s beautiful, but she’s not for Charles tonight, and he tries to shimmy out of her embrace. Somehow he’s made it to the front of the dance floor, where the crowd is almost too dense to shift through and he makes  to offer her an apologetic smile and turn away, try an attempt at sifting through the bodies up the stairs to the relatively clear walkway, but before he can another arm coils around his chest, forearm thick and toned and _masculine,_ and the woman looks up over Charles’ shoulder and blanches, quickly pulling her arms down to her sides.

When Charles arches his neck around to see who’s behind him, the stranger grins down at him with a mouth full of teeth.

He smells of smoke and expensive cologne and protection. Charles just can’t help but breathe him in, and the hot coil between his thighs turns just that little bit tighter. 

His hands come down to Charles’ waist, fingers long and curling around the soft flesh there that in sobriety Charles would be conscious of but as he is - like this, drunk on the scent of this alpha and the minds of the carefree youth around them - he relishes in the touch. He’s not sure if it’s his omega hormones or just his own need for touch, but when he grinds back on the man behind him it just feels so _right_ and so _good,_ and he lets the stranger push his chest flush against Charles’ back. He’s so much taller than Charles, having at least a good head over him, and Charles can feel the seam of his zip pressing just at the bottom of his spine. How small the alpha makes him feel only spurs Charles on further, and he brings his hands up to circle around the man’s neck, fingers curling into the short dark hair at the base of his skull. He pulls him down down down until, with a sigh, Charles feels his nose brushing the skin of his neck that he offers like a whore.

And he is, isn’t he? Rubbing himself up against some alpha in some club, allowing his hands to touch wherever he wants on Charles’ body, like he owns it, like they’re mated. Even though it’s smoky and the only light comes from the fleeting, sporadic strobes, at the stranger’s vantage point there’s no way he can’t see the deep, scarred bond-bite that marks two perfect crescents just shy of the top of Charles’ spine.

Charles’ neck hurts when he curves it even further to the side, and when he feels the alpha still he knows he’s seen his bite, but he doesn’t care, and gives another impatient tug on the other’s hair. Even though the music blocks any and all sounds down here on their dancefloor, Charles hears the alpha chuckle, dark and hot and smooth as velvet. It makes him want this more. There’s probably a hundred other people in the club but like this, Charles can only care about grinding on the man behind him, letting him move Charles’ body like he wants, as he wants; can only care about getting the alpha to scent him.

Charles’ moan is lost to the floor when the stranger finally _does,_ pressing his nose to the taut column of Charles’ straining throat and breathing him in deeply, right at his jugular, where his pheromones run hot with his rushing and surging blood. When Charles hears the alpha sigh in contentment it’s only because his telepathy has seeped out and coiled their minds together. Charles hears the predatory growl externally and hot in his ear, however.

The alpha hums against his neck as he scents him, breathing him in like wisps of smoke from his cigarette, and _oh,_ Charles is _filthy,_ he’s a dirty slut for letting this stranger feel him heavy in his lungs like this. He’s one of those lowlife omegas who’ll do anything to get an alpha’s attention; who probably have bite marks all over their shoulders, not because they’re bonded but because they get off on having an alpha _use_ them, they get off on driving alphas wild on their scent and their slick and the ease with which their thighs fall open. He probably fucks himself on all his alphas’ knots, after they come deep inside him, because the pain is worth seeing the wild burning in his alphas’ heavy eyes. Charles lets them _breed_ him, even when he’s not in heat, lets them fill him up with their hot, fertile seed, lets them imagine him heavy with their child.

Charles is projecting, he _knows it, loves it,_ and the power makes his throat tight. This unknown, unnamed alpha, no different from the rest of them, growls hot into his ear and grips his hips painfully tight and pulls him back onto what Charles can definitely discern is a hot and hard cock that’s ready to fuck him open. Charles is almost curious: would anyone else around them notice? Would the other alphas smell their sex, look over at them, itching to have their own turn of Charles? Could they disguise it as simple grinding and thrusting?

No. Charles knows they couldn’t get away with it; simply because this alpha is emanating his sheer _want_ in pheromones and into Charles’ mind, projecting in such a practised and clean way, and Charles knows the stranger would have him pushed to his hands and knees right here in the middle of the floor so he could fuck him hard and proper and claiming, nothing concealed or secret or private, humiliating him in the most arousing of ways.

 _Come on._ It’s not spoken, but it’s strong and crisp and makes Charles push up on his toes if only so he can press his neck up to the alpha’s mouth, and he moans his success when the alpha’s breath hitches. Before the stranger can curl his fingers around his bicep and drag him off the floor, he drags his teeth deeply across the flesh Charles offers, breathing him one more time. Charles leans back into him, and he knows he’s won now. He’s in this alpha, filling his lungs and each little bronchiole and alveoli, flooding his bloodstream like nicotine and just as addicting.

When the stranger drags him back to the outdoor space, to the low benches by the pool tables where good omegas sit in their mate’s laps and scent them, the crisp chill clinging to the air hits Charles in the face and wakes him up from the hazy smoke lulling his mind and his better judgements. He was going to play hard-to-get with this alpha. It wasn’t meant to be him tonight.

Charles flicks a cautious glance up at the alpha and his mouth goes dry when he sees the heavy arousal swirling darkly in his eyes. They’re a wispy blue. Charles knows it’s too late to back out of this now.

“Max,” the alpha says, pushing him down by his thin shoulders onto the bench and settling next to him. “What’s yours?”

Charles swallows. His telepathy is too strong for the suppressants to fully work. He hadn’t realised how intoxicated he’d gotten just from the people on the dancefloor alone.

 _And this alpha,_ he thinks to himself. _Max._

“You don’t need to know my name,” Charles tells him, reaching over to slip his hand into the front pocket of Max’s jeans, where he knows a carton of Marlboro's and a lighter are sitting snuggly.

Max snorts, looking out across the seats. The pounding, bass-heavy music rises and falls in constructed crescendoes and decrescendos, and flows from inside out into this courtyard. It’s not loud, but it’s enough to fill any awkward silences. “All right, then.” He watches Charles pull a thin cigarette from the pack, settling it between his lips. He nods at Charles’ left hand, and the heavy silver band wrapped around his fourth finger. Fuck, Charles had forgotten to take that off. “You do this often?”

“Clubs or smoking?” Charles asks innocently, eyes lighting when Max levitates and flicks the lighter on with a simple wave of his fingers. Max lights him, and when Charles inhales the wisps seeping through his lips a little too deeply and coughs, Max grins at him.

“Both, I suppose.” Max sits a cigarette between his own thin lips, and Charles watches him with something light in his stomach. Nerves. He’s nervous. He wonders if Max can smell it. He wonders if it’s making Max harder in his pants. The alpha continues, the thin paper of the smoke sticking to the wet inner of his mouth, “Your mate must be very mad with you for your infidelity. That pretty little bite you have on your back isn’t faded.” There’s a curl to his words; foreign and soft in places where Charles’ own accent is crisp and sharp. His blood runs hot through the capillaries in his face, and he hopes Max doesn’t see in this low light. 

While Charles mulls on a reply, Max’s long fingers come up to gently curl around his jaw, and he pulls him forward until the end of Charles’ lit cigarette comes to press against the unlit end of Max’s, which is still between his white teeth. Surely they must look silly, like this, but it makes Charles hot all over again and he couldn’t care less. With crossed-eyes, he watches Max’s cigarette flare a bright orange as he takes a deep drag and lights it off of Charles. His fingers are hard against his jaw, almost hurting, yet Max holds him still and close even after he’s taken a draw of his cigarette and let the smoke trickle from the side of his mouth, a grey tendril that catches’ Charles’ attention and swirls in front of Max’s eyes. The colours are indistinguishable from one another.

Eventually Max lets him go, and Charles plucks the cigarette from his lips with shaking fingers and rolls his jaw. When he pulls back, he manages to speak with a steady voice. Max’s pheromones are in him too, now, and he’s just as hooked on the stranger now as he is on Charles. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Max hums at that, breaking their heavy gaze to stare up at the smoke he blows in a steady stream. “If those were my teeth scarred on your back, I wouldn’t let you leave the house. None of this working omega _scheisse_. You’d full with my seed til you took child, at all times.” Max says it like it’s a command, and Charles feels the instinctual burn to fall to his knees before him. He almost does, and he feels his slick hot and starting to wet his underwear. “Tell me, is that you? Do you feel empty without your alpha’s come hot in your womb? Are you nothing more than a _bitch_ in heat?” Max takes a draw, something calculating and steady in his eyes, and when Charles feels his mouth go dry he knows it isn’t just because of the tobacco. “Or are you head-strong, stubborn and proud, viewing yourself as an equal and working harder than any alpha you know?” Charles doesn’t miss the mental _tonight_ that Max tacks onto the end, but he ignores it all the same.

“You don’t seem too fond of the idea of alpha-omega egality,” Charles starts, ashing his cigarette down by his boot. “Will you still fuck me if I am the latter?”

Max watches him. There’s a ring of green around his pupil that flecks and stipples out into the cool blue of his outer iris. The colours shift as his pupil blows, and Charles bites his lip.

Max leans forward, to whisper gravelly and so only Charles can hear, “Oh, don’t worry. I’m going to fuck you deep regardless, and after I’ve filled you up with my seed, and after my knot goes down, I’m going to plug you up with something infallible so my come can’t leak out and you’ll be sure to have every last drop hot and inside of you.” Charles whines, breath thin and forehead hot as he pants against Max’s neck and feels his scent hot on his tongue and at the back of his throat. “Maybe, after that, after you’ve had my cock, you’ll be more inclined to… acquiesce, to your true stature that this society seems to think you can rise above.”

“Careful, now,” Charles says warningly, and something flashes in the alpha’s eyes and in his mind, that empowered confidence receding into something unsure and wary; but Charles grins, breathless, settling his hand high up on Max’s thigh and thumb soothing a gentle fan over the muscle underneath. “If you talk yourself up too much, you run the risk of disappointing me.”

Max looses a quiet sigh, says with a curve to his lips, “Impossible,” and Charles knows it, deeply and innately and with the heat between his thighs as testimony, to be true.

He curls the hand, the one not holding the cigarette, up around Max’s neck, and pulls him down down down until his breath ghosts over his lips and his features blur so close to his crossed eyes. Max inches forward, and Charles can taste the tobacco on his breath heavy on his tongue, and it’s warm and enticing and coaxing, but as Max leans forward Charles leans back and tuts, plump lips splitting into a grin over his teeth at the way the alpha hisses. “Oh, darling,” Charles coos, taking a draw on his cigarette before leaning forward. 

The kiss wet and languid with tendrils of grey smoke curling in the air around them, tongues gentle and well practised at drawing goosebumps to one another’s skin and moans from one another’s throat. Max breathes in deeply through his nose, and he pulls back slightly, mouth still open over Charles’, and he lets a smoke-filled sigh into his mouth.

The second-hand smoke isn’t as strong, and it’s easy for Charles to breathe it in deep, the nicotine as heavy in his lungs and in his blood as Max’s scent itself. “Come here,” Max rasps against his mouth, his hand coming to grapple at Charles’ thigh and pull him over onto his lap. There are couples across the space sitting together, just like this, with their hands in the open seams of jeans, but Charles feels for a second a little insecure, distinctly _older_ as they are together, and in such a manner. If one of his students happened to be out, happened to see him crawling into the lap of this alpha…

“None of that, _schatz,_ ” Max whispers, sucking in smoke only to gently blow it into Charles’ open mouth when he kisses him.

Normally Charles doesn’t smoke, but this- this is different, and it’s heating more than his chest. Max is still hard in his pants, his erection just shy of brushing against Charles’ thigh. The filter of his own stolen cigarette is burning down to a heated nub between his fingers, and he rolls it on the bench next to Max’s leg.

Charles isn’t sure how to proceed, but he’s given a tentative nod, and he leans forward to kiss and lick into Max’s mouth. “I’m sure you’re not used to allowing your omegas to be quite so… assertive,” he says when he breaks away, leaning forward to suck an angry, claiming mark into the alpha’s neck, right on his jugular and where his pheromones are intoxicating and strong. Max lets a hiss between his teeth, right by his ear. “Don’t worry,” Charles says, tongue flat as his licks slowly across the bright red mark, tasting the sweat and the heat and the _alpha_ on his skin. “I’m still wet for you. I still want you to claim me.”

“Obviously not,” Max groans, taking one last draw on his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and crushing it beneath his heel. Charles shifts along with his thigh, and he can’t help his gasp or his moan when his pants rub tight across his cock. “You’re intent on elongating this. We should be back at my house already.”

Charles rocks against him, shifting closer, until his cock is flush against the taut muscle of Max’s abdomen. “Can’t you smell my slick?” he asks quietly, bringing Max’s hand to his rear and never breaking eye contact as he guides Max’s hand over his backside. “Soon I’ll start to leak through my pants.” Charles slowly brings his hand to Max’s jaw, letting him breathe him in deep and shivering with closed eyes when he continues his massage, unguided and slow. He continues, “Soon, every alpha here will be able to smell what you’re doing to me.”

“My car’s parked around the side,” Max stutters uncharacteristically, eyes shut and nuzzling Charles’ palm, and Charles is filled with a hot pride that he’s able to break him this easily. _Let’s go._

The bouncers hardly give them a second look as Max all but drags Charles out to his car, fingers curled possessively around his arm, and with a flick of his free wrist his car has unlocked and he’s pushing Charles into the passenger side. Charles hardly has time enough to make himself presentable before Max is behind the wheel, eyeing him wildly, hungrily, before checking over his shoulder and pulling out into the conversely quiet street. “Have you had anything to drink?” Charles asks, not bothering with his seatbelt. He knows he’s safe.

“Just one, hours ago, when I was waiting for you. I’m still under the limit.” Charles knows he’s being honest.

“I’m sure you’ll aptly be able to focus on the road, in that case,” Charles tells him, leaning over the console and twisting until he’s comfortable, hand rubbing firmly over the erection in front of him. “Green light?” 

“Green light,” his alpha mutters, spitting out a curse when Charles works him out of his pants and pumps his swollen dick, spreading the precome over the head, thumb tracing the circumcision scar he knows so well. “ _Fuck,_ hurry up with it. You smell so good-” 

He can’t finish, not when Charles huffs at his impatience and acquiesces, working a well trained mouth over his hot cock and licking the precome from him. Charles’ bond bite sings with heat, and he can feel the scorch in each individual tooth mark. He pulls his open mouth off of the cock in front of him to moan broken and unabashed and press his forehead to his alpha’s thigh, panting his breaths and pulling their mixed scents down deep into his lungs. 

Fingers tangle in his hair, and with a sharp tug he’s pulled back up and expected to take the leaking cock back down into his throat. Charles feels weightless, lightheaded, their scents and their pheromones concentrated in this space, and he can smell his own slick soaking through his pants, overpowering and strong and arousing. His bond mark aches in the best way, and he feels drunk all over again, his movements sloppy as he works his tongue around his mouth creating enough spit, saliva dribbling down his lips as he eases the cock into the almost-painful heat of his mouth before swallowing him down. 

 _“Fuck,_ Charles-” Then, _are we still in character?_

Charles can’t speak, can’t think, the electricity under his skin crackling and fizzing in his dazed mind, the heat at the top and the bottom of his spine giving him only one directive: to suck and lick and slurp and pump and hum and swallow, to work his alpha’s dick as hard as he can make it so it’s ready to fuck into him, proper, claim him proper; to make his alpha feel _good,_ because he _needs_ it, because he _deserves_ it, because he provides for him and takes care of him so good. He protects what’s his, kept that alpha woman away by baring his teeth and curling his strong, _strong_ arm around him possessively, and fuck, _fuck,_ Charles is projecting again and he hadn’t realised, drunk on his alpha again, and he can hear Erik’s rasping breaths above him, Erik’s fingers tracing Charles’ bond bite on instinct. 

His telepathy suppressants finally wear off completely. When he coils into Erik’s mind, which opens for him easily, Charles moans, feels him emanating _mine mine mine protect protect protect  he’s mine and I’m his I’m his I’m his_ and sucks just on the head of Erik’s cock.

In time with a surge of more precome in Charles’ mouth comes a gush of slick between his thighs, and he moves up onto his knees to keep from leaking out onto Erik’s car seat with a moan (because he knows from their past endeavors the scent doesn’t leave for a good _week,_ and in that week Erik’ll require a blowjob every time they ride together. Charles doesn’t mind, filled with a warm pride that he can make his alpha hard and leaking with just the smell of his slick alone, but it does make his jaw rather stiff in tandem with the arousal). Hot slick runs down the insides and backs of his thighs, sticking his pants uncomfortably to his legs, but he can’t bear to pull away from Erik in order to take them off fully.

“Fucking hell, Charles,” Erik spits. “You’re telepathy- you- I need to _drive._ ”

 _Do you want me to wait til we’re at home?_ Charles projects, and Erik shudders, knuckles white against the steering wheel.

“No, just-” he can’t finish, arching his neck back against the headrest and moaning through grit teeth.

“We’re nearly home, love,” Charles says to the side of his dick, mouthing along each line and vein he knows so well by now, dipping his tongue into the slit and being rewarded by more of his husband’s seed dribbling into his mouth.

“Do you- do you still want me to dirty talk you?” Erik asks softly, and Charles tries not to let him feel his grin. 

“You can hardly talk right now as it is,” he laughs, humming along the thick hot flesh of Erik’s cock, and moving down to suck at the base and nose at the patch of curls there, breathing him in deep. _When we get home I expect you to._  

Erik cracks the window down just an inch, but it’s an inch enough to let cool fresh air into the car and swirl their intoxicating blend of arousal, giving Charles a short moment of clarity where he can open his eyes and his vision doesn’t swim with heat and pure _need,_ and Erik can breathe deeply and focus on the road. It’s just past midnight when Erik pulls them into their driveway, guiding the car mostly with his instinctual powers more than anything, distracted as he is, and while it’s early for most club-goers it’s good enough for them. Charles sits in the passenger seat a moment and gulps down fresh breaths after Erik all but falls out of the driver side, storming over and pulling the door open for him with a dangerous strength that just makes Charles wetter. Erik scoops him up into his arms, and he doesn’t _care_ if their neighbours are peeking out at them from behind their lacy curtains, Erik squeezes Charles’ ass with one hand and clutches his jaw with the other, pulling their gazes together, pushing his mouth open and holding him still.

With Charles’ legs wrapped tight around his waist Erik carries him to the front door, and it unlocks for them with the practised ease of Erik’s mutation. Charles gives him a look, and they fall back into this, trust tying their minds and heating their bond marks.

“How do you want this?” Erik grunts once they’re inside. His cock had been haphazardly tucked into his fly but now it’s slowly slipping out, pushing up against the wet patch on the seat Charles’ pants. “You’re the omega _bitch,_ you want my cock so bad. So _assertive._ I bet I can fuck the stubbornness from you.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Charles hisses, arching his neck out of Erik’s grip and twisting forward to bite the top of Erik’s ear. It earns him an almost painful squeeze to his sensitive ass, and Erik pushes him against the wall, tremors running along the drywall and the wood and making something on the bookcase down the hall clatter, and Charles _keens,_ letting his head roll back against the wall. “You’re making this hard,” he gasps, offering his throat for Erik to scent, and the alpha doesn’t need any more coaxing. “To be assertive. When you’re clearly a powerful alpha. You’re probably the strongest I ever fucked.”

It’s all part of the scene, they both know it, know it because Erik was sheltered and introverted when he met Charles at university, and he still is; but they were each other’s tentative and shy firsts, and then seconds, and then thirds, and ten years later with matching bond bites searing into the backs of their necks they’re still very much in love. There’s never been anyone else and they both know it but Charles still gasps sharply when he feels the jealousy, the sheer _need_ to _protect_ filling the blood in Erik’s veins.

Erik’s kisses are messy but Charles let’s him into his mouth wetly, sucking on his tongue and licking along his teeth. He moves his mouth down the cut line of Charles’ jaw, sucking the skin underneath, and Charles knows he’ll wear a necklace of purple and pink and red by tomorrow. He just hopes it fades enough before Monday. _You have pretty scarves,_ Erik suggests, but Charles ignores him in favour of toeing his boots off where his ankles hook behind Erik’s waist. They clatter to the floor.

“How many men and women have you had spill their seed inside you?” Erik’s voice is low and gravelly from the smoke and from arousal. It makes something spike in Charles’ gut, his thighs trembling and wet.

“Never you mind,” he tries to venture with a steady voice, but it comes out wispy and thin, and while Erik pins him against the wall Charles pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it over by the stairs. “I want you to fuck me so hard I forget them; if you do that, you’ve won.”

The back of his neck burns painfully hot when Erik flicks his gaze down Charles’ naked torso, leaning forward to drag his tongue along a pretty collar and scrape his teeth along the sensitive bone. Charles writhes and gasps, almost shifting out of Erik’s grip entirely, but then Erik hikes him further up the wall so Charles is above him and can easily tilt his head forward to nose at his short dark hair. “Look how wet you are for me, my hands are already covered in your slick, through your pants alone. You’re _sopping._ ” 

“Then fucking _do_ something about it.”

Powered by the innate directive to _fuck claim protect love fuck claim protect love_ that courses through him, Erik growls, gripping Charles tight and turning to start up the stairs. He’d tried to carry up him once before, and it hadn’t gone so well, but with Charles’ scent filling his lungs and his slick dripping from his long steeped fingers Erik finds it in him to carry his omega to their bedroom, door opening freely with his mutation. Erik throws him on the bed like he’s done a thousand times, practised and safe and sure, and just like he intends the air slips from Charles’ lungs for a brief second. “Are you in charge here?” he spits, kicking off his own boots and shimmying his tight jeans down into a pile by his ankles. “The only thing you’re good for is _breeding._ ”

Charles knows what he’s playing. They both know. That’s what makes this so much better than if they really _were_ strangers, unaccustomed to each other’s bodies and minds.

“Why aren’t you breeding me, then?” Charles hisses, kicking his own pants off. Erik quickly ducks into the en suite, coming back with arms full and dumping the towels on the bed before pulling Charles to the floor, rough and yet still gentle, to spread the towels across the duvet. “Or maybe you’re going soft. Maybe you’re just a simple _beta,_ and your pheromone supplements are wearing off.” They talked about this in bed this morning, before they both left for work agreeing to meet late in the night at the club on main street, and Charles bites his lip red in anticipation.

It’s an act, but the point is to make it seem _real,_ and when something dangerous flares in Erik’s usually calm eyes it makes Charles feel _giddy_ more than anything. There’s no way he could ever be scared, not with his mate, but his chest is rising and falling rapidly, his legs trembling as he pushes himself back up onto the towels and lets his thighs fall open, as far as they can go, presenting himself for Erik with a flush spreading from high on his cheeks to down around his nipples. 

“You’ll get my cock when you prove to me you _deserve_ it,” Erik starts, and Charles keens, canting his hips on instinct at his words. “When you stop being so _insubordinate,_ after I break you in.”

Erik stands at the edge of the bed, and Charles gives him a slight nod, steeping his knee. Erik’s cool hands slide down under his calves to his ankles, and for all the soft, loving strokes his grip tightens, and he pulls Charles’ legs closed and pushes them to his side, presenting his rear. “Then break me,” Charles says, low and deep and spiking something in Erik’s gut. So he holds Charles’ ankles in one hand, gives him a look, and brings the flat palm of his right hand powerfully down on the skin of Charles’ backside.

The moan he gets is high and long and strained as Charles arches his neck back across the towels, and it burns in the bond mark Erik wears on his own neck. When Erik slaps him again, Charles jostles, fingers clawing between the towels at the duvet, panting through grit teeth. His hand comes down hard again, just under the swell of Charles’ ass, and a new wave of slick seeps from his entrance. Charles writhes, legs already trembling, and Erik has to push just a little to keep him still. “Each time you move your shoulders,” he tells him quietly, “It’s another five hits. I want your back flat on the bed, arms above your head. You wanted me to break you, didn’t you? You want this; you know you want this. Your _working, assertive_ omega facade is only that; you can never lie to your biology, never deny that you _crave_ this powerlessness.”

As he speaks his hand comes down, cracking against Charles’ flesh over and over, and Charles whines something beautiful and tight, forcing his back not to arch, forcing himself to try and breathe steadily, in through his nose and out through his mouth. His skin is so sensitive, not just on his rear but _everywhere,_ lit on their pheromones and the smell of his own slick. Erik’s permeating power and dominance, and it washes over Charles intoxicatingly, and he almost _wants_ to disobey him, to shift on the bed, if only to be at the mercy of his strength and his palm again. Charles coils in Erik’s mind, and he feels _good,_ sure and strong and powerful as the sharp clap of skin on wet hot skin resounds through their bedroom, followed by Charles’s gasps and pants and moans.

“Hands and knees,” Erik says firmly, and Charles doesn’t need to be told twice. There’s pretty red circles from Erik’s fingers around Charles’ legs, and he wears the marks like anklets.

A time ago Charles would have felt insecure presenting himself like this to Erik, being on display like this. He knows he’s not the fittest omega, not the slightest, with smooth taut and flexible muscle; he knows he has stretch marks that never faded and little cellulite patches on his too-thick thighs, knows he’s probably too hairy on his calves and at the nape of his neck; but he _knows_ that Erik loves him, has known for years and years, and so when Erik licks a hot stripe up his spine that burns just as fierce as the teeth marks just shy of his neck all Charles can feel is the shiver that slowly spreads down his shoulders and makes his locked-arms tremble; no embarrassment, no shame.

“Look how wet you are for me,” Erik murmurs, and Charles isn’t sure if he’s still in the scene, because Erik’s a little shy and a little quiet, and he’s never dirty talked him as _himself,_ always some persona or another. The idea that this is genuine and real makes Charles’ thighs ache, his cock swollen and hanging heavy between them.

Erik holds his shoulder as he spanks him again, only three heavy slaps across his rear to finish, and his skin flushes a bright pink that makes Erik’s mouth dry. “Yellow light?” he manages to ask, tentative and as gentle as his hand that strokes down down down and soothes Charles’ flesh, offering a small massage in the wake of the harsh slaps.

Charles shakes his head no, hair falling across his forehead in curls that stick and cling with sweat when he looks over his shoulder back at Erik. “Green light,” Charles tells him, a little breathless and with something wild and hungry in his eyes.

For all he acts like _he’s_ in control during times like this, where Charles is desperately horny and desperate to be filled, they both know that there _is_ no control in this, that for all his slurs and derogatory words Erik truly does see Charles as equal, if not above himself; the way he kisses and loves him in reverence, so gentle and so strong, heart full of conviction and dedication and _love,_ Charles knows he’s his alpha’s entire world and moon and stars and galaxy, everything contained in something small in stature but strong in power. Charles is _powerful,_ stronger than Erik in mutation if not build, and Charles knows Erik feeds off it the way he looses a deep, contented sigh and lets his eyes flicker shut when he opens his mind for Charles to nestle warmly within.

So he asks again, to make sure, because he could never bear to push Charles too hard, couldn’t ever live with himself if he did, “Are you sure? Do you want a drink?”

Charles sighs in exasperation, and pushes himself back into Erik’s space, but he understands and tries to keep his patience, even through the terrible itching under his skin he just can shift, tries to stay calm even though he feels so _empty_ and he needs to _rectify_ that. “I’m sure. Water bottle?” He mostly asks just to satiate his husband, but as he watches his alpha turn to the nightstand and unscrew the lid of the plastic bottle for him, that familiar heat seeps into his muscles and he hopes that a drink will cool it. He doubts it’ll help, however. It’s a burn for something even hotter to fill his insides, heat incalescent and scalding and aching perfectly. “I’m ready,” Charles says when Erik pulls the bottle from his mouth, and Erik nods, pressing a quick, wet kiss to his closed lips before settling the bottle on the stand.

Charles hears him moving behind him, and his fingers press to the soft fleshy inner of his thighs, and then Erik’s breath his ghosting cooly over the stinging red swathes over his backside, and Charles holds his breath. 

And then Erik laves his tongue over his entrance in one thick swipe that leaves Charles’ fingers clenching and his back arching, breaths hard and scratching his throat as he pants. He’s too _sensitive,_ his scent glands and slick glands swollen under his skin from how long Erik’s been teasing him like this, from all the foreplay. Erik hums as he tastes him, catching the hot, sweet clear fluid on his tongue and spreading it further as he laps at him, as though Charles isn’t producing enough slick to keep him warm and open for _days._ Erik drags it on, taking his time as he works Charles open around his tongue, relishing in the choked cries and gasps he’s drawing from his omega with his tongue and the rhythmic, timed squeezing of his fingers on his thighs alone. When it gets too much Charles cants his hips, pulling away abruptly. His wobbly arms nearly give out under his weight.

“Please,” Charles rasps. “I need your cock. I need your knot in me.”

“Are you broken in yet?” is all Erik asks, low and filthy and making Charles’ toes curl, continuing to pull Charles tight to him and taste his wet even after he tries to shimmy away and out of his grip.

“I always was,” he whispers, and they both know that isn’t an act.

Erik handles Charles like he’s a doll, flipping him over onto his back and pushing his legs apart. Charles’ cock is swollen and red, given no attention so far through the night, so before Charles can complain at him he leans down and sucks him off in one easy slide of wet tight lips. He bobs his head only three or four times, relishing in the strangled cry Charles can’t hold onto for long, before pulling away and quickly leaning over to kiss him. _To tide you over,_ he tells him, before scooping him up on his arms and walking over to pin him against the wall. “Legs around me, like you put your legs around anything with a cock big enough to fill you up,” Erik instructs, voice heavy and resounding down to Charles’ bones; that sudden, submissive urge resurfacing from where Charles usually keeps it quelled.

Charles and Erik are equals in everything, so much so that Erik wears his bond bites with pride, and often spreads his legs to let Charles fuck _him_ instead - but there are quiet, thin moments when Erik will say something or do something or look at him a certain way, and Charles’ legs will tremble with the sheer _need_ to fall to the floor, bow his head with his fingers interlocked behind his back and lick Erik’s boots if his mate so wished him to. “Not tonight, _schatz_ ,” Erik whispers to him through a grin, and finally, _finally,_ that cock Charles is such a _filthy omega slut_ for pushes up against his entrance and in, in in in in in until Erik’s heavy balls are up against Charles’ skin and they’re both gasping.

Erik looses a breathy moan when Charles twitches around him, kissing in reverence along Charles’ throat and settling on his Adam’s apple. After a still moment to catch their breath, Charles squeezes Erik’s waist with his thighs, looking at him with something sure and imploring swimming in the blue of his eyes. Erik kisses him hard suddenly, and Charles is a little surprised, but he kisses his husband in return disregarding the way their teeth clash and they share a little too much saliva. It’s not hard when the taste of his own slick is being pushed against his tongue. He lets his eyes flutter shut. 

He’s not sure he could ever bore of fucking Erik, even after all this time, even after all their heats and ruts and quiet mornings and vexed nights and lazy middays; when Erik’s cock drags so slowly over his glands and nerves and sensitive spots before he thrusts deeply back inside him, Charles’ eyes roll back and his neck arches and his arms tremble with the strain of keeping them around Erik’s shoulders.

Erik’s usually so calm and quiet, his stoicism stippled with the occasional left of field snarky remark that at the start of their relationship threw Charles off, but now they just make him grin breathless and flustered. While he doesn’t hide his strength he’s still reserved, choosing to listen and draw in information to then shoot down the opposition with. He manages to make everything an art, be it fucking or cooking or cleaning or loving, with a steady gaze and steady hands and a solid disposition --

While he’s cold to the world Erik’s so gentle and warm with Charles. Being able to make him crumble lights Charles’ skin with electricity, crackling and charged by Erik’s broken moans filling his ear.

They start off slow, no matter what the scene or ambience; not only to allow Charles to adjust because they _know_ he’s ready by this point, but to let Erik press their wet with sweat foreheads together and breathe deep and keep himself from coming with those initial thrusts into Charles’ tight heat. “When you’re ready, darling,” Charles whispers, not impatient in the slightest, because this isn’t a scene, they’re not acting; this is him and Erik and he knows the deep, hard fucking is coming, but for now, he relishes in this.

Erik’s muscles flex and ripple under his tight dark skin, and Charles watches the shifts in sinew and tendons as his thrusting begins to steadily find a rhythm. The wallpaper is harsh on his back but by now Charles can’t care, and his eyes flicker shut as that familiar urge and itch starts deep between his legs. He can feel Erik biting his neck, nothing hard, just shy of painful, and something shifts in his chest - warm and blossoming and filling him up in tandem with Erik’s cock. “I love you, Charles,” Erik murmurs against his red skin, and Charles grits his teeth and tries to roll his hips to the best of his ability, pushed as he is against the wall.

Charles is breathing in Erik’s air, their faces touching, and it’s hot and good and safe. “I need you to fuck me,” he says, voice broken by the way Erik’s using Charles’ own weight to fuck himself. “I need it.”

It’s nothing like if they were in a heat, where it’s wild and crazed and powered by their biology alone, but Erik still moans in his ear at his words and holds him tighter, turning him around and carrying him back to the bed. He doesn’t throw him down this time, just lowers him gently, and when his cock slips out of Charles they both gasp quietly into each other’s mouths.

Charles wants Erik to fuck him like this, on the edge of the bed, but he knows that the angle would be nearly impossible, what with their size difference. He shimmies up the bed, towels clumping and dragging and rippling around his elbows, but Erik pulls them straight after he reaches up above Charles’ head to pull down a pillow. “Up,” he murmurs, and Charles lifts his hips to let him slide the pillow under his lower back. “Good,” Erik says with a small smile, when he’s got Charles into the position he likes, leaning up to kiss his mouth gently. He runs his long fingers through Charles’ sweaty hair in praise. Charles licks the bone in his wrist when he pulls his hand back down to his cock.

“Green light.” It’s almost a whisper. Charles lets knees fall open around Erik, lying flat on his back while his alpha ranges over him, supporting himself on a locked straight arm.

“Green light,” utters Erik, pressing another gentle kiss to Charles’ mouth before he pushes inside him once more and looses a sigh.

With every snap of Erik’s hips Charles shifts a little up the bed, and the frame itself squeaks rather crudely. “Ignore it,” Erik hisses, biting the hard muscle between Charles’ neck and shoulder and licking the sweat settling above his collarbones.

He’s got his other hand pressing against Charles’ chest, fingers splayed over the fine hairs raised on his flushed skin. Charles can’t keep his mouth shut anymore, and every time he feels Erik fucking into him deep it coils something in his gut, bumps the need a notch higher, makes the itch greater, and breathy moans and keens and utterances of husband’s name slip through his flushed lips. Charles’s fingers grapple for Erik’s wrist, and with a sharp tug he manages to get Erik’s fingers from where they’re squeezing his nipple up to his throat, where he lets Erik see the glint in his eyes.

 _Are you sure?_  
  
Erik’s palm is heavy against the hollow of his neck, his fingers twitching on Charles’ wet skin. When Charles falls into the warmth of his mind, he sees Erik wanting to slide his fingers up up up until they’re in wet heat of Charles’ mouth, feeling every groove in his teeth and wet with Charles’ saliva. “Choke me now and we’ll see what we can do.”

Charles isn’t sure what he likes about it, because he has an oddly sensitive gag reflex himself and even having a scarf too tight around his neck makes him uncomfortable, but when Erik presses down hard - though still mindful not to mark him - and gradually thins Charles’ air it makes his eyes roll and his back arch.

 _You won’t break me,_ he sends into Erik’s warm mind. _Make me feel it._ In a swift movement Erik managed to catch Charles’ steeped knee in the crux of his elbow and bring his thigh up and open, and while Charles is still able to suck small rasping breaths in between his teeth he shuts his eyes and focuses on regulating his air flow.  

He can see himself in Erik’s mind, flushed and panting and falling apart beneath him, and when Erik’s cock pushes in deeper than before and ghosts over something too sensitive and too raw in Charles his telepathy surges, and he fills Erik’s mind with his pleasure in tandem with the way Erik’s filling him.

Making Erik fall apart is hotter to Charles than any scene he conjures up, than any kink he thinks he might like to try; Charles can sense how close he is now, smell it on his pheromones and feel it heavy in his mind, it won’t take long.

In the post-sex sobriety Charles might feel a little embarrassed by it all, because for all the confidence he exudes only a portion of it is genuine. For now though his blood his hot from one instinctual and inherent drive: to make his alpha feel good, to make his alpha come.

 _Use me,_ Charles thinks, and the metal of his wedding ring is as hot as the bite marks singing in his skin. _You’re fucking me so good, you’re so good to me Erik, use my body like you want to, you deserve to._

“Fuck, _Charles._ ” Something strained falls from Erik’s mouth along with his laboured pants, and yes, like this, he’s so close to unravelling like this. Charles feels his husband’s hand lax on his throat before sliding shakily down his body and curling around him, where he’s hard and been mostly untouched for the night, but Charles doesn’t mind about that.

“Don’t stop,” Charles begs, hand coming up behind Erik’s shoulder and nails scratching at whatever skin he can find purchase against. “Don’t stop fucking me, even as you come.”

Erik’s moan is broken and hot in his ear, and Charles knows he’s won. Their skin slaps together wet and loud, and Charles nearly loses his breath from the way Erik’s shifted and is hitting all his glands and nerves in the most perfect way with every snap of his hips.

“Come on,” he whispers against Erik’s cheek, and the towels under his back are probably going to leave him chaffed and raw, and the pillow is only half-under him now, but he’s got Erik so close and he’s feeding off his pleasure. “Come for me, darling.”

Erik pulls their mouths together when he finally falls apart above Charles, mouths open and slack and wet and kisses nothing more than the rolling of their lips. The combination of release and sheer _love_ surges up in Erik’s chest and Charles feels it as if it were his own, minds curling and coiling and bleeding together at the seams. Charles knows he likes it like this, when Erik’s got them joined physically and Charles is molding them together mentally, and he shivers and moans and cants his hips when he feels Erik’s hot seed mingling with his slick. Erik fucks him through it, and when he manages to tie his moans back down in his chest his hand finds Charles’ cock once more and strokes him off firmly. In the haze of their blurred minds and shared pleasure, in the heat of Erik’s come filling him up, with the pheromones and the affection that Erik is permeating, it isn’t long before Charles keens sharply and coils his forearm behind Erik’s neck, writhing beneath him and dragging his nails across his skin and biting and kissing and moaning and projecting the intrinsic feeling of _completeness_ that he’s overcome with.

Erik holds him through the aftershocks, and when Charles’ muscles finally ease in their spasms he lets him back down on the bed gently. Charles hadn’t even noticed he’d been holding onto Erik so tight.

He unfurls with a sigh, stretching his arms above his head with a wicked grin twisting his lips. Erik is red, and he doesn’t look at Charles for a moment, taking his time in gathering up the slick-soaked towels and dumping them in the hamper just shy of the bathroom door. He disappears for a moment, and then Charles hears water sloshing into the porcelain tub, pipes creaking away quietly in the walls. He’s still naked when he comes out, expression almost sheepish, and he eyes the way Charles is spread out over their bed for a second longer than strictly necessary before coming over to card his fingers in his sweaty hair.

While Erik’s often shy like this after they have sex, his mind is still open and welcoming and warm, and in his haze Charles is always eager to dive in.

“Come on,” Erik murmurs, sliding an arm under his shoulders and then blushing at his words. Charles presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth to try and stop his grinning. It doesn’t work.

“I’m sorry,” Charles titters when he hears Erik huff a breath, and he lets his husband walk him over to the bathroom. He never thinks his legs are so weak after they make love, but he knows better than to try and walk unsupported. “You were very good." 

“I’m glad,” Erik tells him warmly, although his voice is a little hoarse. Probably from all the moaning. He settles Charles down on the edge of the tub, turning to pour the vanilla bath salts he knows Charles likes into the water. “Though a nightclub? Did you take into account the fact that it’s a Friday?”

Idly Charles watches him swirl the salts through the water, long fingers carding through the water. “It wasn’t so bad though, was it? To be fair, there was a lot of people…” Erik’s lips are pursed when he glances at Charles, and Charles can’t help but grin in response. “It was okay in the end!” Erik blushes at that.

Erik turns the taps off with his mutation, and settles into the tub first when it’s full enough to his standards. Charles gingerly swings his stiff legs over into the water and waits for Erik’s hands to hold his hips before going lax and letting Erik guide him into his lap. Steam wisps and coils around them, heavy with heat and vanilla. “It was perfect,” Erik murmurs, pressing a light kiss to the bite mark on the back of Charles’ neck. It’s nothing more than a gentle warm pulse now, aching only just and throbbing in tandem with the ache between Charles’ thighs. Erik’s seed is seeping out into the bathwater, and probably a shower would have been more ergonomical (something Erik would grouse quietly, like Charles’ conscious wasn’t nestled in his thoughts) but Charles has always loved being pampered and Erik will always love being the one to indulge him.

Erik’s nose brushes against the kiss-marked skin on his neck. “Did you have a good day, _schatz_?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of Charles’ spine where he’s a little too hairy and a little too oily, but Erik could never mind and Charles cast his insecurities far far away a long time ago. He presses back against Erik’s chest, relishing in the skin-on-skin contact he always craves, especially from his mate.

“I did,” he replies, letting his head fall back against Erik’s shoulder and baring his neck enough to let Erik casually scent him. He drags his hands lazily up Charles’ chest and arms, washing languidly, touching gently and in a reverence for him that Erik’s never lost, not even after all these years of being mated and married. Affection swells in his chest, and Charles feels it like a second heartbeat. “Class was only slightly unruly, for a Friday. Hank continues to prove he’s the best TA a professor could ever dream for. And you? How’s Alex?”

Erik chuckles and it warms something in Charles’ chest. “Still besotted. Emma wants to hold some kind of couples do in order to move things along.”

“What did you say to that?”

“That sure she could plan it,” Erik starts, rubbing Charles’ arms in a gentle massage, “But she can’t come running to me when some innocuous teen hears noises from the janitor’s closet and opens it to find Armando’s hands in Alex’s pants.”

“I’m missing all the drama that goes on at the information centre, it seems,” Charles complains. Erik kisses his throat gently.

“What else? Kitty accidentally phased through into the men’s bathroom and found Logan and Scott having at it, too, apparently.”

“Oh, stars,” is all Charles can say to that.

“Oh stars,” Erik repeats.

They’re quiet for a moment, and Charles let’s Erik touch him, lets him breathe him in and press soft kisses to his skin. Vanilla clings to the air, and it’s smooth and calming and Charles can’t help but let his eyes slide shut.

“You looked good tonight,” he says listlessly, words slow and drowsy. “I like that shirt.”

“I’ll wear that shirt more often, then,” Erik says lowly, and Charles can feel his grin.

“We should try piano teacher and student, next time.”

“We don’t own a piano, Charles.”

“Or then baby-sitter and lonely single-father.”

“Wouldn’t we need a child to make that seem authentic?”

“I could ask Raven to bring Kurt over.”

Erik pulls back, and tells him in his most stern and solid voice, “No, Charles. I’m not having sex with our nephew in the house.”

“Okay, daddy,” Charles says wickedly, and he hears the quiet hitch in Erik’s breath. His cock twitches where it’s pressed against Charles’ lower back. 

“Don’t call me that.” It’s weak and flimsy and as transparent as the hot water surrounding them. Charles grins, and Erik swats his arm gently.

“We could do teacher and student?”

“Didn’t we do that already?”

“Yeah, but I was the teacher.”

“You _are_ the teacher, Charles.” Then, “We could always just buy new sex toys. Or just, you know – have normal sex. Surely you’re not bored of me already that you need a fantasy to get off.”

“Definitely no,” Charles chides. “It's just that roleplay is so _fun_.”

He slumps back against Erik dramatically, sighing like he’s endured the worst of grievances. The damp curls and flicks of his hair catch in Erik’s mouth and tickle his nose. “You’ll come up with something, you always do. You’re so clever like that.”  
  
His husband’s praise warms his chest. “Sweet talk me some more, I’m still rather acquiescent – you might get a blowjob if you’re lucky.”

“Will an ‘I love you’ work?”

Charles hums. “It could.”

Erik nuzzles his hair. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” then, “Daddy.”

Erik cuffs him across the head.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Continued warnings for  
> \- slurs, but they're just dirty talk and part of the roleplay scene, so I don't think they really count  
> \- implied infidelity, but again it's just part of the scene  
> \- consensual choking  
> \- consensual spanking  
> \- consensual/safe/healthy D/s undertones???  
> \- probably incorrect a/o/b dynamics 
> 
> Alternate summary: charles and erik are happily married and mated and because erik loves deeply his Sinnamon Roll of a husband he happily falls into his crazy roleplay schemes and ideas.


End file.
